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“Isobel will be along soon,” Peter said easily, accepting a cup of tea from his wife. “She had to make a couple of stops along the way.”
“I can put some more water on,” Genevieve said.
“That’s all right—you know she likes her tea strong enough to strip wallpaper, and you can just microwave it.”
“Blasphemy!” Genevieve said. She was facing the drive, and her eyes narrowed suddenly. “Help me in the kitchen!” she demanded.
“Now? I just got here,” he protested.
“Now,” she said. “You, too, Jilly. I need some help with the scones.”
Jilly was sitting cross-legged in a chair, her textbook in her lap, and she looked up, blinking. “There are plenty.”
“I need your help, Jilly,” Genevieve said in her most lawyerly voice, and the girl suddenly emerged from her physics-induced stupor and rose.
“Sorry,” she said. “Of course. We’ll be right back.”
“I can help, too…” Summer began, but all three of them said no in unison.
Shit. Was it her birthday? she thought, when they’d disappeared into the house. They had some jolly little surprise planned for her, and she wasn’t in the mood. They’d all been watching her for the last few weeks, as if they were expecting her to explode, but she’d gone through her daily life with complete calm; it was only when she was alone in her room that she lay dry-eyed, miserable, sleepless. That she faced the fact that she was being torn apart.
Post-traumatic stress syndrome, she thought again. There was probably some kind of drug for her condition, and L.A. was the place to find any kind of prescription pill you needed. Just pop something twice a day and she’d forget all about him.
No, her birthday was in May. They couldn’t be planning any kind of surprise celebration. She could only hope and pray that Lianne hadn’t returned to provide some cursory maternal caring. She’d never been that good an actress.
Summer set down her knitting for a moment, and was reaching for her cup of tea when a shadow fell across her. She looked up.
It was Takashi O’Brien. Of course. Standing there, looking at her. And Summer burst into tears.
He pulled the knitting away from her, throwing it in the grass, then sank down on his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his head in her lap. He was shaking, she realized, and the tears were pouring down her face, onto him, as she stroked his long, silken hair and cried.
She didn’t care what it sounded like—the hiccupping noises, the choking sobs. Her own body was shaking, racked by the final release, and he sat back on his heels and pulled her out of the chair, into his arms, holding her so tightly that a weaker woman might break, whispering to her in Japanese, sweet, loving words, letting her cry.
She was a strong woman, and her tears, so long denied, only made her stronger. His heart was pounding against hers, his hands firm and tender, pushing the hair away from her tear-drenched face. When he kissed her she couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t care.
“Holy motherfucker.” The voice came from behind them, and she jerked her head up, to see Reno standing there, a bandage tied rakishly across his flame-red hair, looking at them with disgust. “Do you have to make such a disgrace of yourselves?”
She’d finally stopped crying. Isobel Lambert was coming up behind Reno’s slight figure, impeccably dressed as always. “Hi, Reno,” Summer said, her voice raw from her tears.
“Hi, yourself, gaijin. Just so you know, I don’t approve of you joining the family. I’m putting up with it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Behave yourself, Reno,” Peter said, emerging from the house, carrying a tray with glasses of champagne. “You’re not nearly as tough as you’d like everyone to believe.”
“I eat gaijin for breakfast….” His words trailed off as Jilly came out of the house, in her pseudo-frock, her combat boots, her spiky hair and her young, young face. He just stared at her, motionless, as if someone had clubbed him over the head with a mallet.
Jilly froze where she was, staring back at the exotic creature in black leather and bright red hair who’d invaded the garden.
“Stay where you are,” Genevieve said to Taka and Summer, handing them both glasses of champagne. “You look too comfortable.”
Taka had his arm tightly around her waist, holding her against him, and if her hand shook slightly when she took the glass, so did his.
“To happy endings,” Peter said, raising his glass.
“To true love,” Genevieve added.
“To my sister,” Jilly said, clearly shaken, trying not to stare at Reno.
“Holy motherfucker,” Reno muttered, pulling himself together, trying not to stare at Jilly. “You’re all crazy.”
